


locally sourced, organically grown

by drinkingstars



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cooking, Dallas Stars, Florida Panthers, Food, Los Angeles Kings, M/M, Multi, farmers market, vague hockey universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:51:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkingstars/pseuds/drinkingstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s never seen Tyler here in May.</p>
            </blockquote>





	locally sourced, organically grown

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in the spring after the Kings didn't make the playoffs, long before Martin Jones was traded. it took a while to get back into the place. thank you to the several lovely people who proofread and gave feedback on various versions and got hungry at odd hours of the night as a result.
> 
> there is quite a bit of description of food, eating and cooking, and fishing and harvesting of seafood, especially oysters. there is also a brief mention of weight loss through implied healthy dieting.
> 
> Megan Mitchell's recipes and cooking techniques are homages to my favorite chefs and food artisans at my local farmer's market, all women.

Martin’s alarm is set for 3:30 am. He groans in his pillow when he hears it, soft beeps that get louder and more demanding the longer he lays there. He finally shuts it off with a slap, shoves the covers off. The coffee maker in the kitchen is on a timer, so by the time he’s showered and dressed there’s a hot fresh pot waiting. He fills his travel cup and pours the rest of the pot into his thermos. His mom will make a new pot anyway, hours from now. 

She left him breakfast by his keys, fat triangles of waxed paper - probably cherry turnovers, maybe blackberry. Sometimes she gets up to see him off, but he doesn’t mind the solitude and the dark quiet house, either.

His boots crunch in the gravel driveway, setting his coffee and pies in the cab of his truck before checking everything in the back one last time - tarps, poles, bungee cords, paper goods, ice chest. He’ll buy ice at the docks. His toolbox holds a couple sets of kevlar gloves, three well worn shucking knives and two brand new ones, a first aid kit just in case. An insulated bag full of lemons from Costco, the only thing he buys like that in bulk. 

He drinks his coffee and hums on the drive. It’s still too dark to look around and enjoy the scenery, so he just keeps his eyes on the road for animals - their local wildlife tends to jump towards headlights rather than away. He’s in line by 4:40 for the 5:15 ferry.

\---

There’s almost no traffic coming through town, and he’s a bit early for the marina. It’s too early for weekenders to be up and about, so it’s just him, some delivery trucks, and probably a few other market vendors who have to drive out to farms and make pick-ups. He parks, gets out and stretches, looks out over the water, still dark, flat blue-grey. He lugs the ice chests down and into the store, meets the new dockhand for the season, who helps him fill up with ice.

A thrum of boat motors approaches soon after, and he spots the Osprey, slowing to an idle through the signal lights. Martin waves, and ambles down the dock, grabs a nearby boat hook to catch the line.

“How’s it going, old timer?” He asks with a smile.

Willie’s grin is white and toothy, beaming from under the brim of his cap even in the dull morning light. “Wasn’t sure you were gonna show up.”

“I always do,” Martin shakes his head. The dockhand takes the lines from him and lashes them with fast, experienced knots as Willie guides the bow in between the pylons. Willie kills the engine, fiddles with a switch for a second or two and then climbs up onto the deck and over the bow, big smile and an even bigger hug for Martin.

“Good to see you. I think you grew another foot, knock that off. You meet Aaron? Only guy around here taller than you.” Willie says, elbows him in the ribs. Martin rolls his eyes, shakes Aaron’s hand formally. Aaron says, “sir” and nods curtly, hops onto the boat.

“Same height since I was 19. Maybe you’re just shrinking?” Martin suggests, sardonically. 

Willie snorts a laugh. “C’mon. Aaron will load these in for ya, we got time for breakfast.”

\---

They fill up on fried eggs and potatoes at the little marina diner, and Willie talks Martin’s ear off about the grow season, the beds he’s got in different stages of cultivation around the island. “No season here anymore, not with this crowd. They don’t care about the _R months_ , they just want their kumamotos and champagne right now, thanks.”

“Good for you, though.” Martin says, glancing at his watch. His foot starts to tap on his stool, even though he has plenty of time - he hates to be rushed.

“Good for me, since I care and know what I’m doing. Bunch of other jerks out here depleting the population, over harvesting…” Willie trails off, looks out the window at the water. Martin finishes his orange juice in a few gulps, reaches in his back pocket for his wallet.

“I got it, I got it,” Willie puts a hand up, insisting. “You better head on over. Meg’s so excited to see you.”

“Excited to see her, see everybody at the market, really,” Martin says with a nod, slides off his stool. 

\---

Willie’s wife Meg _rules_ the farmer’s market. She learned to make jams, and do all kinds of pickling and preserving from her grandmother, then polished off a culinary degree in one long fall and winter on the mainland, just to get her techniques and her bonafides. She has a small breakfast menu that changes every week, alongside a rainbow of tiny glass jars containing jellies, confitures, and cordials, glinting in the sun like jewels. In the high tourist season they regularly have a half-hour wait, a line that winds all the way to the date and nut stalls. 

Martin backs the truck slowly down the grassy path behind the booths to where he can unload, spots Meg jumping up to meet him. She hugs him tight and hangs onto his arm, marvels, just like Willie, at how tall he’s gotten. He swears he hasn’t gotten any taller.

They move the ice chests under the shade awning and Martin sets up his cleaning table. Meg slices lemons into wedges for him, sets them out with little pots of freshly ground horseradish and her own homemade hot sauce on Martin’s service table.

Martin ties on his apron last, pulls on a pair of cut-proof gloves, and takes out his dad’s favorite old shucking knife. He opens the first ice chest and takes out two each of three different kinds of oyster.

He holds the first one in his glove hand and deftly, easily slides the blade between the shells. It’s a healthy, well formed shell, and snaps open with a satisfying pop. He knocks the shells apart with a twist of his wrist, and slips the sharp side of the knife along the meat, slices it clean away in one deft move. He lifts it quickly to make sure it’s floating free, checks for grit or bits of shell, then slides it back into the hollow. 

He holds it out for Meg with a smile. “That’s a Kusshi.” 

He cracks the second one open for himself. Meg waited for him, so they clink their oysters together.

“To summer coming,” she says. Then, after they slurp them from the shells, “Oh my god...that’s so good. Nice and light. I’ve got a green apple and Thai basil mignonette. Perfect.”

Martin hums in agreement, moves on to the next type. Good old Fanny Bays, reliable as the tides. He pops two fluted shells open easily, hands one to Meg in his glove. “You probably don’t even need to taste that one.”

“Ate them all winter. They’ve been so good this year. I made cucumber, lavender and shallot for those.” She opens her ice chest and takes out several containers of mignonette, drizzles some onto her oyster and tests it out.

Martin raises his eyebrows, kind of rolls his head around as he thinks about those flavors. “That...sounds interesting,” he finally cedes. 

She laughs and says, “It works, I swear.” Her flavor combinations are rarely wrong and the customers love them. Meg gestures for him to hold his open shell out, and spoons a little on.

“Ok. I’ll never doubt you again.” He grins, swallowing it - a mouthful of pure summer, like wildflowers running right down to the ocean. 

Martin picks up one of the remaining oysters, turns it over several times to examine it. He slips one glove off and feels the shell, runs his thumb over the smooth, flat surfaces. It feels like lacquer to the touch, a glazed shard of pottery. He drops his old knife into his apron pocket and chooses a different one, a newer, modern one with a more flexible blade. 

“Are those the -” Meg asks, watching him carefully.

He nods, rubs his thumb over the seal between the two halves of the shell. “Royal Miyagi,” Martin finishes. 

“He thinks they’re ready?” Meg asks, wrinkling her nose and scrunching one eyebrow at him, dubious.

“He says they are...guess we’ll see.” He holds the first oyster and slips the blade in what seems like the best spot. One side of shell shatters in his hand in a hundred pieces. 

“Motherfu...sorry.” He shakes his head, turns the oyster over and tries another angle, and the vault cracks open. Not without a million little shards of shell inside, but it opens. He nudges the meat with the tip of his knife. “Let me...I’ll try the other one for you.”

“Looks good inside,” Meg says with a shrug. Willie wasn’t wrong - he rarely is. The shells just may not have hardened up if the winter on the beach was mild, which it kind of was...at least on Martin’s side of the strait it was. He has no idea where Willie hides these things - probably only he and Meg know where that beach is. 

Martin holds his breath and slides the blade into the second Royal Miyagi, uses a gentle, steady pressure and lets the suction of the shell finish separating itself - and it works. This one opens clean, the iridescent shell perfectly intact. He slices the meat free - it’s gorgeous, pearlescent, almost transparent, shimmering against the lapis blue inner shell - and hands it to Megan with a triumphant smile and a “phew.”

He pokes at the shattered one, knows he can’t waste it. He takes his gloves off and picks out the biggest pieces of shell with his fingers, then turns the oyster over carefully in its own liquor, rinsing the meat off. He slides it, cool and firm, into his fingers, leaving all the bits of shell behind. He lifts his hand and tips the oyster into his mouth. His eyes immediately roll back in his head. 

“Atta boy,” Meg says, doing the same with hers. She makes a noise that would probably be considered inappropriate if Martin weren’t totally gay and they hadn’t been such good friends for so long.

“Oh my god,” Martin says, eyes wide as he chases the flavor down his throat with his tongue - light, bright, the finish like a bite of fresh kiwi fruit. “That one…”

“Damn. Nothing on those, I’d say. I mean...suggest it. They do what they want,” she gestures with her hand out toward the market. It’s just about time to open, and there’s more activity now. 

Martin nods. He watches people load their oysters up with so much horseradish, there’s no way they can even taste the delicacy of the flesh, the subtle flavors of each different type. He tries not to be precious about it, but sometimes it irks him. And these are damn special. 

\---

People look forward to the first farmer’s market of the season all winter, and Martin and Meg are _busy_. He doesn’t get a break until well after noon. The Royal Miyagis are long gone, as are Meg’s savory potato muffins and uni scrambled eggs. Martin’s shell buckets are full, and he needs to stretch his back, walk around a bit, and eat some lunch. 

Meg already took a break and she brought sandwiches for both of them, always thoughtful. Martin takes off his apron, stretches and twists until his back and shoulders release, and eats his sandwich - ham, burrata, wild arugula, rustic bread Meg bakes herself - then goes to wander around. It’s a nice day, just warm enough to be pleasant and feel like early summer should, but not so hot he feels wiped from standing and working in the sun.

He stops to say hi to a few people, sees Jamie busy with a throng of girls giggling around him, trying his macarons and homemade marshmallows. Martin waves and mouths that he’ll come back later. 

Further down he sees a bunch of small children clamoring near the goat cheese stand, and in the middle of them, a good looking guy in sunglasses holding an armload of baby goats. The kids are squealing and their parents are urging them to be careful and gentle. The goats squirm in his arms, and Martin has to laugh as the guy tries to wrangle them. He pets one on the head as he walks by.

“Cute,” Martin says in passing, rubbing the soft bony nub on the little goat’s head.

The goat dude looks up to smile at him, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. “Cute but they kick.” He winks at Martin.

“I bet,” Martin says, absolutely does not try to flirt with this guy - he knows better - and walks on.

He’s almost to the end of the circle and thinking about buying some fruit when he looks down toward the last few stalls, and sees Tyler Toffoli hefting a peach crate onto a table. 

Martin cocks his head, watches him for a moment until Tyler notices, looks at Martin quizzically. Martin quirks his mouth in a half grin and waves, awkwardly, then turns away and pretends he’s very interested in a nearby display of wild greens and herbs. 

He overplays his fake shopping by about thirty seconds, and winds up buying a bunch of chamomile flowers out of guilt when the vendor comes over to help him. Meg probably knows where to forage those wild, but whatever, he had exact change in his pocket.

He carries his flowers back up the grassy slope, sees Jamie isn’t busy now. He holds the chamomile awkwardly at his side and hugs Jamie with one arm.

“Are those for me? You shouldn’t have.” Jamie says, his big stupid grin lighting up. 

“Well, I’m a gentleman. Here, you can have them, if you can do something with them. I didn’t, uh...” Martin isn’t really sure how to finish that statement - he was distracted by Tyler Toffoli and accidentally bought flowers he didn’t need and is pretty sure he’s allergic to? Cool, Jones, real cool. 

“Yeah, you can steep ‘em in milk, make good cupcakes, actually,” Jamie says, taking them and breathing in the fragrance. “So what’s up, man? You here for the whole summer?”

“I’ll probably go back and forth a bit. Staying at Mitchell’s tonight though, yeah.”

“Nice. Nice place. They’re such good folks, y’know? Megan helped me lose all that weight, in case you, uh, didn’t notice.” Jamie stands up a little straighter, holds his shoulders back more broadly.

“Oh yeah...thought you looked a little different. Look at that, no more Chubbs. Lookin’ good, man. Can’t be easy with the kind of stuff your family bakes.” Martin has the opposite problem just trying to keep weight and bulk on him. Maybe he’ll buy a tart from Jamie to take back. 

He looks over Jamie’s offerings, then glances around, leans in. Jamie knows _everything_ on this island. “Hey, uh, did I see Toffoli earlier?”

Jamie gets the slow, lazy look of putting something together that he gets sometimes, then squints into the sun. “Yeahhh...his team didn’t make the playoffs.”

“Whoa. Shit.” Honestly Martin couldn’t say who’s in the playoffs right now, but he knows not making them is a big deal. 

“Yeah,” Jamie cuts his eyes over, looking toward the fruit stands. 

Martin squints back at Jamie, mulling this over. There’s island gossip, and then there’s _asking for a reason_. “He still dating that same girl?”

Jamie looks up abruptly. “Who, Taylore? I don’t think so, man. Pretty sure she went away to school - pretty far, East Coast...Toronto, maybe? She could be home for summer I guess. You can walk down to eggs and see if you see her.” Jamie narrows his eyes again like he’s trying to figure something out, like maybe he missed something.

Martin rolls his eyes, gives Jamie a _look_. She’s a pretty girl and her family’s eggs are the best, but, _no_. 

“Just curious. I should probably get back to Meg,” Martin says finally by way of extricating himself from the awkwardness, which is entirely his own making.

Jamie is reorganizing his table, moving a few boxes around where he’s sold out of pie flavors. He picks one out and hands it to Martin. “Here...for the Mitchells. You gotta bring something for dinner.”

“Nice. Thanks, man.”

Jamie shrugs. “Cool. See you around, probably. If you’re hanging out.”

“Yeah I’ll be around. See you at Schooners, maybe.” Martin waves, heads back to his and Meg’s stall, definitely does not look over his shoulder toward Toffoli Family Farms.

\---

He’s never seen Tyler here in May. Last year his team won the Cup, and he never came back to the market at all. Martin heard he brought the Cup in a helicopter and left the same day - he was on the mainland for the week and missed the circus. He hasn’t seen Tyler in over two years, if he’s doing the math right. Before that he probably never went a week without him since they became friends.

Tyler didn’t care that Martin didn’t play hockey. They made minnow traps and tried to net crabs on the shore in the summer, or later, hung out on the beach for days, picked up shells and driftwood, listened to music. Tyler would come over after hockey practice when he was allowed, warm up by the fireplace, sometimes try one of Martin’s nerdy fantasy books, though he never really got very far in them. 

They mostly just liked to talk. Martin could always talk to Tyler, when it was hard to talk to his mom, when Jamie was distracted running after girls, when Tanner became insufferable and _none_ of them wanted to talk to him anymore, Tyler was always quietly there with Martin.

Tyler didn’t get mean or rough like the other hockey boys did as they got older. He stayed the same, still came over to Martin’s house, still did his homework on time, still said yes ma’am and no sir, and helped with the dishes when he came over for dinner. 

Martin read a lot of books and watched a lot of movies. Maybe he found some books and some movies his mom wouldn’t call “age appropriate” for him, but they helped him figure a few things out. After that, he thought maybe that explained why guys at school always kept him at a distance. Maybe they knew before he even did. 

He liked guys, but he loved Tyler. That was different, and as long as Tyler still loved him, he didn’t care what all the other guys thought, or didn’t think at all, about him.

Martin went to a few hockey games senior year because he wanted to see Tyler play, but also figured it would give him a rare chance to see some guys from off the island. It’s not like he would _do_ anything with them - he was practical, after all - but he could look. 

The other guys weren’t that exciting, it turned out. He kept going to games just to watch Tyler, even though it made him feel a strange, anxious sadness inside, because he knew Tyler would leave one day. He was too good not to. 

“You’re amazing!” he yelled one night, clapping as Tyler glided past him in the stands after scoring a goal so pretty even Martin could tell it was good. Tyler beamed, pulled his glove off with his teeth and waved up at him, cheeks flushed and pink.

The night they graduated they sat on the hood of Martin’s car in the glow of the senior bonfire, a little ways down the beach. Jamie came to pester them, prodded them with beers and swigs of cheap whiskey to get them to come party with him. They did, a little, let Jamie get them fucked up and wound up wasted and laughing in the sand, passing a huge joint with some girls from their class Martin had never even spoken to before. They stuck together anyway, shoulder to shoulder under the stars like they had to save up this time, bank it now for when the inevitable happened. 

They watched the sun come up, Tyler leaning on Martin, Martin wrapping his arms around him to keep him warm. Tyler smiled at Martin gently, looked around at the mess from the party the night before. “Let’s go,” he said.

Tyler called him some nights to ramble nervously about packing, about flying to California for the first time. Martin gave Tyler a book to read on the plane, and Tyler hugged him, hard, for a long time, until Tyler’s dad cleared his throat in the hallway. Martin said goodbye and good luck, and went home. 

Tyler didn’t ask him to, but Martin watched it on tv, strange as it was to him - several hours of hockey teams calling names and terrified looking boys pulling brightly colored jerseys over their heads. He watched, anxious, bored, queasy all at once, and finally saw his best friend get chosen to play the game he loved for a living, live on television. 

Martin screamed, put his hands over his face in disbelief and awe, so proud his heart ached in his chest. He ran to tell his mom, but could barely get it out before he was crying, sobbing uncontrollably onto her shoulder. His mom frowned, then smiled a little sadly. She hugged him tight, pulled him down to reach him and kiss the top of his head.

“Oh, Martin, my love,” she said.

\---

Martin sprawls out on his bed with Pinot, Willie’s little hound dog, alongside him. The French doors off his upstairs guest wing are wide open, salty breeze blowing in from the strait. He tries not to overstay his welcome at the Mitchells’ house in any given summer, but they’re so hospitable it’s hard to leave when the weekend ends. Willie has some work on the boat he can help with this week, so he feels like at least he’s earning his keep. 

Willie’s house and life up here on this bluff are like a fairytale to him - his house and room feel smaller every time he goes back - but Martin knows Willie has worked hard for it. Martin remembers standing behind Jamie and Tyler - up on crates because they were still smaller than him - to get a glimpse of the Cup when Willie brought it home. He and Meg got married that year, an event that was practically a royal wedding on the island. 

Then Willie got hurt, a horrific head injury that Martin unfortunately had to see replayed about a hundred times on the local news. Willie recovered and was actually cleared to play, but to the disappointment of many fans, didn’t go back. He was smart, Martin thought, to choose to retire before he was too badly hurt to enjoy the life he wanted. 

The oysters started as a hobby, just something for Willie to fixate on while he couldn’t play hockey and couldn’t go fishing. His equilibrium was wrecked for the better part of a year and he couldn’t even set foot on his boat. He has a year-round operation going now, is completely obsessed with conservation and sustainability. Martin’s pretty sure Willie has coves and beaches and secret spots that nobody on earth knows but him.

Even as a kid, Martin always had steady hands and calm nerves, which is what you need to shuck. Around the time Martin’s dad died, when he vaguely remembers all the adults in his life trying to keep him busy and distracted, his grandmother sat him down at a picnic table and showed him how to hold his dad’s oyster knife. 

He learned how to protect his hands, learned which oysters went to the seafood restaurants and which ones to the cannery. He sorted out the tiny ones to seal in jars for his grandmother to make oyster dressing with for Thanksgiving. 

He worked at the canning plant one summer in high school, but wasn’t actually fast enough to keep up with the women that worked the line. They sent him down to packing jars and shipping boxes instead, which wasn’t nearly as fun.

Martin met Meg when she was still running her old cafe, when his mom was first talking about moving off to the mainland. He hung out there a lot, sulking because high school sucked, reading his geeky fantasy novels and drinking coffee. Meg loaded him up with clam strips and french fries, made him have more pie with his coffee because he was so skinny. 

Meg was the first person he came out to...except Tanner Pearson. Meg took him home with her that night and made him stay for dinner, and she and Willie made him promise he would come to their house if anyone was ever making him feel bad, or being mean to him, or anything was wrong, really.

No one ever really did any of those things or made him feel bad...well, except Tanner Pearson. But that was different.

\---

Tanner Pearson was the first boy Martin ever kissed, and then it all went downhill. 

Tanner was of the firm belief that he did not need school. He was going to play hockey - _real_ hockey, Tanner would say, rolling his eyes at the kids with their secondhand gear and skates taking the ice on their crappy high school rink - and that was that. 

Tanner was, Martin thought, overly confident and prone to bragging - about his hockey skills, about his frequent travel off the island to big cities, large arenas and training with pros. Martin thought, _yet you always wind up back here on the same boring corner of the island we grew up on_ , and turned his attention back to his book, where there were dragons.

After a particularly egregious report card in 11th grade, Martin got assigned to tutor Tanner in math. 

Tanner clearly resented it, and him, and spent a lot of time rolling his eyes and looking at Martin, blankly, with bright red cheeks. Martin made a valiant effort, but mostly Tanner just stared at his hands and made loopy, swirling pencil doodles in the margins of his assignments.

“I bet you already know a lot of math, you just don’t know you know it.” Martin said, taking the pencil and sketching what he approximated to be the lines on a hockey rink. “Hockey is math. Like, all of it. And physics, but luckily I’m not your tutor in that.”

Tanner snorted. “Like I’m taking physics. Come on, man.”

“No but I bet you know a ton of it without even thinking about it,” Martin insisted, frustrated with him for being so dull and stubborn.

“Yeah but, not like...the numbers. Just know what goes in the net and what doesn’t.” Tanner shrugged, looked at Martin, bored.

“Just...try this,” Martin said, taking the pencil again and scribbling some dimensions down to go with his drawing.

“We could do something else,” Tanner said, sitting up tall and pressing his hands to his thighs.

“You’re not even going to try anymore, are you.” Martin said, shook his head incredulously. 

Tanner smirked, a weird, twisty little face, plucked the pencil from Martin’s fingers, took Martin’s hand and placed it on his own crotch. Martin could feel, through rough denim and his sweaty palms, that Tanner was hard.

“Uh...oh.” Martin tried to stay perfectly still but his fingers longed to squeeze, to feel him. 

“I’ll do you if you do me, c’mon,” Tanner explained, licking his lips and Martin didn’t know what to do. Tanner moved his other hand, placed it on Martin’s crotch and Martin all but jumped out of his skin. “What, no one’s ever done you before?” Tanner asked, again, overconfident, like this was just a boring, everyday thing to do for him.

Martin felt his face flush, shook his head no. Tanner’s fingers were loosening the top button on Martin’s pants and he wasn’t stopping him. He could feel himself getting hard and there was nothing he could do about it. He sat back in his chair, waiting for Tanner to stop and laugh at his joke. Tanner didn’t stop, and Martin just stared, mouth hanging open as he worked his zipper down.

Tanner rolled his eyes and coolly licked his palm, reaching into Martin’s pants and wrapping his hand around him. “That’s ‘cause you don’t play sports. You’re so weird. Wait, you’re not gay, are you?” Tanner asked, stroking his hand roughly over Martin’s erection.

“What? No.” Martin said with a scowl, sitting back to give Tanner more room.

Tanner scrunched his eyes up, sat back and popped open the rest of the buttons on his own jeans. “Here, you should…” Martin looked at Tanner’s hard-on, swallowed down his fear, and reached to take it in his hand. Tanner felt smooth and soft, firm under the thin skin. Martin thumbed at the edge of his foreskin and leaned in when Tanner’s shuddered.

“Can I kiss you?” Martin asked, throat tight.

Tanner shrugged. “F’you want to. Whatever.” Tanner tilted his head and pressed his lips to Martin’s.

The kiss was dry, and Tanner’s lower lip felt thick and swollen, like maybe he’d been hit on that side of his face recently. Tanner kept moving his hand up and down, and Martin tried to do the same back to Tanner but it was hard to coordinate his hand and keep kissing. 

He really wanted to keep kissing.

Martin parted his lips and Tanner’s tongue brushed inside his mouth just as he squeezed up on Martin’s head in a tight circle, and Martin came all over Tanner’s hand. 

Martin gasped, was scared to let go of Tanner and surged forward instead of pulling away, worked his hand harder and faster and thrust his tongue into Tanner’s mouth. 

Tanner cringed and bit Martin’s lip in surprise, jerking away as he came on his stomach.

They both sat back, touching their lips gently like they were stung, each trying to figure the other out.

Martin fumbled for a box of tissues from his bedside table and Tanner dabbed a handful of them at the mess on his skin and underwear, quickly buttoned his pants.

“I gotta go,” he said. He picked up his trig notebook and left. 

Martin had the whole weekend to think about Tanner’s hands on him, his warm dry mouth.

On Monday the guidance counselor told Martin that Tanner was quitting tutoring.

Two weeks later Tanner’s family was moving, and he was transferring schools. The story was that a team in a different division wanted to draft him, and they thought he might have a shot at the big league if he went.

“You’re just...leaving?”

Tanner pulled a faded hoodie and a couple issues of X-Men out of his locker, looked up at Martin through his eyelashes. “I’m going to play _hockey_ , Martin.” Like he couldn’t possibly understand.

“But you’re just..quitting school?”

“They have _school_ where we’re going. God. It’s not about you.”

“I didn’t say it was - fuck, Tanner, I was just trying to help you not fail out. I didn’t ask for any of this shit from you.”

“I tried to tell you, none of this matters. None of _this_.” He gestured with his hand in a wide sweeping circle, around himself, Martin, the whole school, the whole island. “I’m going to play hockey.”

“Yeah, you said that, about a million times. I hope it works out for you Tanner, you’re probably too stupid to do much else.”

“And you’re probably too gay.” Tanner snapped back, his cheeks flushed and angry.

“That doesn’t even make sense. And yeah, I am, so what?”

Tanner stopped cold. He looked taken aback, then furious, then just rolled his eyes. “Fuck you. Like it even matters.” He slammed his locker shut and walked away.

Tyler asked him what was wrong when he was still pissed that afternoon, and Martin scowled. “Tanner Pearson’s such an asshole,” he said, quite simply, hoped he wasn’t hurting Tyler’s feelings, if they were friends because of hockey.

Instead, Tyler’s mouth went flat, a dry smirk across his face. “Hmph,” he snorted through his nose. “You have _no_ idea.”

Martin caught Tanner’s name in a local newscast or by glancing at someone else’s newspaper in a coffee shop a few times over the years. Tanner did make it - he might have won a Cup one of those years, too, but if he did, he didn’t bring it to the island.

\---

Willie has a lot of work for him, and Martin winds up calling his mom to tell her he’s staying the week. He always has an overnight bag in his truck anyway - habit learned of relying on a ferry you may or may not make to get on and off an island - and has a few days worth of boat clothes in his little guest room dresser. 

By midweek it’s summer-warm, and Willie hears about a good spot where the fish are biting. Martin doesn’t think of himself as much of a fisherman. His mom never let him out on the boats, after they lost his dad. Martin doesn’t have that lure to the sea that most island folks have though, and his mom relented over the years as he got older, trusting both his self-preservation instincts, and Willie once she met him, to keep Martin safe. 

They head out just after dawn, Aaron looking down at the dark water and gesturing to Willie with an occasional head nod. Willie tuts in agreement, turns the boat smoothly where Aaron points. Aaron and Willie fiddle with the rods and reels, talking amongst themselves until they pick one for Martin. He sucks at casting, so Aaron does it for him, hands Martin the rod with a shy smile when he’s happy with the placement.

By noon Martin lands a huge, ugly lingcod that Willie deems both ethically and ecologically sound to keep. They take it home and clean it, and Meg fries it whole for dinner with lemons and tiny green chile peppers. Aaron stays long after dinner, sitting on the porch with Willie while Martin helps Meg prep jars.

After a few nights like this at the house and more of listening to Willie and Aaron talk about tide pools than he can take, Martin gets a little antsy. He drives into town to see if Jamie or anyone else is out and about. He doesn’t see Jamie’s car at Schooners so he drives around the point to the more touristy strip of bars and restaurants. 

He finds Jamie at Lucky’s having beers with a guy Martin’s seen before. He’s another Tyler, it turns out. Jamie says he’s working at the goat farm for the summer. 

“I make cheese,” other Tyler says with a lot of unnecessary eyebrow waggling. Jamie beams like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. Christ.

“Didn’t recognize you without the goats,” Martin says sarcastically, shaking his hand.

“They’re probably my best feature,” he says, flashing a sparkling grin. There are a couple of tourist girls clearly angling for their attention at the other end of the bar, but Jamie only has eyes for the goat cheese guy. 

He’s tan and lean, black tattoos winding up both arms and a loose, way too easy smile. Martin huffs out a bemused laugh and rolls his eyes as he orders a drink with them - he doesn’t even think Jamie actually _likes_ dudes but of course this is the one he would pick to find out.

A few beers in, the way Jamie and this Tyler are into each other, up in each other’s space, starts to make Martin feel twitchy. It’s been...a while, he realizes. It’ll be easier in a month or so when there are the most tourists - weddings and groomsmen parties are great because everyone’s got that one gay cousin - but it’s not impossible now. 

He takes a casual look around the bar, just gauging the crowd to sort out who looks familiar and who looks like a mainlander. He misses the door opening, but when he looks back around, Tyler Toffoli is crossing the room and ordering a beer next him at the bar.

“Hey Martin.” He holds out his hand, proper, like he wants Martin to shake on a deal. Martin hasn’t seen him in at least two years, except for the other day at the market, from a pretty good distance. Martin cocks his head in curiosity, but puts his hand out. Tyler shakes it, looks away at the TV over the bar.

“What’s up, Peaches?” Jamie calls, purposely, obnoxiously loud, over Martin’s shoulder.

“No one calls me that anymore, _Chubbs_.” Tyler snipes back, curls his lip. 

Jamie laughs, same big dumb laugh that always got them in trouble in middle school. “That’s also Tyler. Toffoli. He’s a dick.”

“Tyler Seguin. Seguin’s fine. It’s French, or something.” Goat cheese waves half-assedly at them from his perch next to Jamie. 

Tyler smirks, picks up his beer. “Yeah there’s a shitload of us now. I remember when I was the only one.” Martin laughs. Sometimes Tyler _is_ a dick.

Tyler looks up again at the TV. There’s a hockey game on. Martin doesn’t know the teams, but Tyler scowls, looks quickly away. “So what’s up with you?” He turns to Martin, seemingly out of desperation for distraction more than interest in an actual conversation.

Martin shrugs. “Same, I guess? I don’t know. Taking classes in the winter, getting a degree soon, finally. Came out here to shuck and didn’t leave. You know how that goes.”

“God, don’t I, though. Gonna be a long summer out on this rock.” Tyler grimaces, swallows his sip of beer.

“Yeah, you’re…” Martin begins, cautiously. Tyler’s weirdly sensitive sometimes, and Martin has never had the urge to poke him with a sharp stick like Jamie does. “It’s only May, is all.”

Tyler eyes him warily, picks at a piece of soggy label on the bottle he’s drinking. “Pears broke his leg. Pretty bad. I couldn’t do it all myself.” He shrugs.

“Pears...Tanner Pearson is on your team?” Martin asks, stupidly bewildered. He just figured...there are at least three dozen teams, why would they be on the same one? Don’t they like, spread them around or something?

Tyler rolls his eyes. “God you’re still so weird. Yes, he was...is, on my team. I mean...hopefully he comes back.” His eyes drift up to the game again and Martin sees him force them back down. “Do you wanna get out of here?” he says, unclear whether it’s to Martin or to all of them.

“We were gonna go smoke up…” Jamie leans in to say behind his hand, conspiratorily, like it’s some big secret. 

Seguin grins over his shoulder wolfishly. “Let’s go to that cove just past Jansen’s Creek?” Goat cheese knows his way around, then.

Martin doesn’t particularly care about smoking up, but the beach isn’t the worst idea. “We’ll follow you,” he says, collecting the Tyler closest to him. He’ll go to the beach with these guys but he’s not being held captive to Jamie Benn’s stoned whims and shitty car. 

\---

Tyler climbs into the cab of Martin’s truck and slumps in his seat, sulking. 

“What?” Martin takes the bait.

“Nothing. Can I change the music?” Tyler leans forward, fiddles with the buttons until something more to his liking plays. Martin keeps his eyes on the road, but can see Tyler fidgeting, finally settling and staring out the window. “I just...we should hang out.”

“Uh...we’re hanging out right now?” Martin stammers, feeling confused. Jamie is driving slower than his grandfather, so it’s easy enough to keep up with him and also keep his attention turned to Tyler.

“Haven’t seen you in a long time,” Tyler mutters. His mouth sounds dry. They’re not even stoned yet, so this bodes well for their communication.

“Yeah. I realized, when I saw you. I think it’s been like two years.” Martin glances away from the road, sneaks a look at him in the headlights of an oncoming car. He looks different...older, more world weary. Tired. Martin frowns.

“Hmph.” Tyler says, turns away and looks out the window again. “It’s been a long fucking two years.”

\---

Tyler passes Martin the bowl like he’s not sure he’ll take it. Jamie is already giggling and clutching at Seguin’s arm unnecessarily, and Martin rolls his eyes. “Give me that.” He sparks the lighter and scorches the sticky weed with it, sucks in gentle little puffs. He knows how to smoke a fucking bowl - he’s not _that_ weird. He holds it for a second, exhales slowly in the direction of the ocean. 

Tyler is quiet, a familiar presence just beside him, despite the time that’s passed. His body feels comfortable, warm and buzzy where they lean on each other. He hands the bowl back to Jamie. Seguin’s got his arms draped around Jamie now, so Jamie holds it to his mouth and lights it for him. 

Martin watches them, watches Seguin’s chest expand with his hit. His gaze drifts off to the ocean. He can’t tell how long for, but he feels Tyler breathe in sharply beside him. He looks back and Seguin is leaning down, lips in a tight O, billowing a steady stream of smoke into Jamie’s waiting mouth. Jamie giggles, almost daring the space between their lips not to close.

“That is some serious 10th grade shit right there,” Tyler scoffs beside him.

“Are they…” Martin starts, but doesn’t really know how to finish. Tyler shrugs, his shoulder still pressed to Martin’s, still warm and present. He leans closer, all the way across Martin to grab the bowl off Jamie’s chest where he left it. Martin puts one hand on the small of his back, finds it easiest to just leave it there. Tyler smiles at him, soft, sparks the bowl again.

He breathes out his smoke like a normal adult person, shakes his head at Jamie, who is laughing and lolling his head in Seguin’s lap. “Who even knows?” He passes it to Martin again, who finishes it off and taps out the ash.

“I have gum," Martin says suddenly, stoned, apropos of nothing but his mouth feeling kind of dry. Tyler looks at him like he’s crazy, then snorts out a laugh and holds out his hand for a piece.

“You’re so weird,” Tyler says. For like, the millionth time in Martin’s life, but it strikes him as funny this time. He was just thinking that.

Martin crackles his gum between his teeth. “I’m really not that weird.” 

He turns and looks at Tyler, his eyes adjusted to the moonlight and to being high now. He can see everything better, that distinct, stoned clarity that makes the edges of things sharp. Tyler’s hair is messy, wavy and sea-blown. His nose is newly crooked - a sharp bend to one side that may still be slightly swollen. He’s stoned, and lets Martin look, looks back at Martin for what feels like a very long time.

\---

“Hey...we should go.” Tyler elbows Martin gently and he realizes, snapping to from his zoned daze, that Jamie is wrapped up in Seguin’s arms and Seguin is kissing him, softly but intently.

“Oh. God, sorry. This is why we drove, see?” Martin rubs a hand over his face, pushes up off the sand. He holds a hand down and Tyler takes it, lets Martin help him up.

“Later, guys.” Martin says quietly as they pick past them up the sandy embankment. Jamie doesn’t even come up for air.

They don’t say a word until they’re in the truck again and the engine is running. Martin finds some music, scrubs his fingertips through his hair to wake himself up. He finally looks over at Tyler. “That...that was weird, right?”

Tyler laughs, a soft, hmmm sound. He turns to look out the window as Martin backs the truck out. “It’s not that weird.”

Tyler is quiet on the ride, doesn’t complain about the music once. Martin drops him back at his car - a shiny SUV with California plates.

“You should come over for dinner some time.” Martin finds himself saying as Tyler’s getting out of the truck.

“Yeah? You cooking?” Tyler says, leaning in the door, looking more tired than dopey now.

“I can, yeah. Meg’s a good cook. They’d like to see you, I bet.”

“Dinner with your folks, eh?” Tyler grins. “Yeah maybe. See ya, Martin.”

“Yep.” Martin says as the door swings shut. He sits for a minute, rubs his hand slowly over his eyes, then drives back to the Mitchells’ and raids their fridge for leftovers. 

\---

Next market day is hot and busy. Martin takes a break to get a cold drink and wipe his boards down around eleven, looks up to see Tyler, looking like hell. He’s hanging out near Meg’s stall like he’s not sure if there’s a line he’s supposed to be in, or if he should even be standing upright at the moment. Martin scowls, motions for him to come over. 

“Ouch, man. You ok?” Martin asks, looking him over.

Tyler tilts his head like he’s not quite sure, reaches in his cargo shorts pocket and pulls out a dripping wet can of Cariboo. “Let me get two...I think I can handle that.”

“Fanny Bays ok?” Martin asks, arching one eyebrow at him. He knows he doesn’t need anything fancy for his disgusting hangover cure attempt. He pulls out two solid looking ones, feels their weight in his hand. He opens them carefully, makes sure they’re perfect.

Tyler pops the beer open and drinks a few careful sips of it, like he’s making sure it’s going to stay down. _Awesome_ , and _please don’t puke at my stall_ , Martin thinks, handing him a small paper plate with the two open shells on it, nestled in a pile of crushed ice. “Hope it works.”

“You and me both. Fuck.” Tyler says, takes the plate gratefully. Martin watches his method, trying not to laugh at his misfortune. Tyler covers the first oyster with hot sauce, then tips his beer, adding a big splash until the oyster is swimming in it. He lets out a long, slow breath, steeling himself, and knocks it back. Martin grins, peeks at him out of one eye, squinting against the sun.

“Alright?”

Tyler grimaces, seems to take a sharp inhale before swallowing. Martin watches his throat work, chews the inside of his cheek. Tyler kind of shudders, nods his head slowly a couple of times, and looks up at Martin, already looking more alive.

He takes a few more sips of his beer, cracks a weak smile. “So far so good.” Martin watches him squeeze lemon all over his second one. 

He downs this one with less hesitation and fanfare, then licks the citrus juice that runs down his fingers. “Oh man. Thank you.”

Martin glances back at him. He looks more alive already, sunshine and color in his cheeks. _Peaches_ , Martin thinks distantly, immediately wants to punch himself for it. Martin frowns, clears his throat, busies himself cleaning up. “No problem. What were you...d’you go out with Jamie or something?” 

Tyler looks up at him, steady gaze Martin can feel but can’t see behind his dark sunglasses. He shakes his head, a miniscule movement. “Nah...Seguin came and picked me up? He’s, uh. He’s a trip.”

Tyler turns his head to look around the length of the market and Martin finally notices the marks on his neck - small, purpling bites and a good red patch of scratches and scrapes, beard burn to be sure - creeping up Tyler’s jaw. 

Martin takes a step to widen his stance where he stands, centers himself. He slides his shucking glove back on.

“You want one more?” he asks, just to have something to say while his mind chews at this, tries to figure out how to digest. 

Tyler downs the rest of his beer. “Maybe later. Don’t wanna push it. Thanks, though. Come down later...for her apricots.” He smiles at Martin, glances over at Meg, busy talking about a bottle of elderflower syrup with a customer.

Martin doesn’t look up at him, just picks up his oyster knife. “Cool.” 

\---

By two in the afternoon Martin is out of oysters and Meg is sold out of rhubarb lemonade, sorrel pesto, and three different salads she brought a metric ton of. 

They pack up and Martin tells Meg he’ll go pick up her apricots from the Toffolis. She raises an eyebrow, barely a tic but Martin catches it, shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Thanks Meg, but no way. Not a chance.”

Meg shrugs like she doesn’t know _what_ he’s talking about, and picks up her last flat of unsold jars to put in her car.

Martin sets off across the market, a warm walk through way too many people. He ducks around a crowd and veers onto a slightly different path, one that, of course, puts him right in front of Tyler Seguin.

“Hey man.” He holds out a tray and hands Martin a crostini of sourdough. “Best goat cheese you ever tasted.” He _winks_. 

Martin rolls his eyes, pops the bite in his mouth. He’s had their goat cheese before...but Seguin made this himself. Yeah, it’s pretty good. Seguin watches him, like he’s waiting for him to fawn over him and his product. Most people probably do.

“Yeah, thanks. It’s good. I think Meg already got some from you today, so.”

“Oh yeah, the chef? She’s a sweetie. You stay out at their place, eh?”

“Not all the time. I’m going back on the ferry tonight, actually.” Martin says.

Seguin surveys him, arches an obviously groomed eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Too bad. Gonna hang out with Toff and those guys.”

“Mmm, yeah. You and Tyler hanging out now?” Martin can’t help himself.

Goat cheese grins, wide and easy. “Sure, yeah you know. I hang out with everybody.”

Martin huffs a soft laugh under his breath. “You do, don’t you?”

“Summertime. Here to have fun.” He grins again, that white, toothy smile that drives Martin crazy while being aesthetically perfect. He gets on Martin’s nerves, but in that way Martin is starting to not mind...which means, on this island or off, he needs to get laid. 

Martin shakes his head. “I gotta...going to get apricots. You guys have fun tonight.”

“Maybe I get you next weekend,” Seguin says with a wink and absolutely no guile as Martin walks away.

“Maybe.” Martin side eyes him and walks away.

\--- 

Tyler’s busy when he gets to his fruit stand, and Martin kind of hangs back, waiting. Eventually he’s able to come over, holding a wooden crate of apricots. Martin tries not to let his eyes drift back to the marks on Tyler’s neck. He must not do a very good job. Tyler tilts his head, hands off the apricots.

“Don’t worry about that,” Tyler says with a smirk.

Martin is caught off guard, probably stammers when he responds. “What? I’m not. Was just going to ask if you were feeling better.” 

“Mmmm,” Tyler says, nodding his head and squinting against the sun. “Yeah. Better now, thanks.”

“Alright, well. I’m headed back. Try not to get too crazy this week.” 

Tyler’s mouth softens. “Oh. I thought maybe you’d come out tonight.” 

Martin holds his head a little higher, feels a weird twinge of sudden regret. “Oh. I told my mom I’d be back to do stormproofing…”

“Cool. I’ll just...ok, see you next weekend. The apricots are great.” Tyler shakes it off, shrugs.

Martin shrugs back. “Thanks...see you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. 

He frowns the whole way back to Meg’s car.

“Have you seen that...goat cheese guy?” He asks, rolling his eyes when Meg all but _giggles_ at the mention of him.

“Oh yes. Saw him without his shirt this morning,” she says, quirking her mouth mischievously. She hands Martin an apricot from the box.

“Jesus.” Martin closes his eyes against that image, against his stupid tattoos and his white teeth and the marks on Tyler’s neck. He rolls the apricot in his hand.

“Oh to be 21 again…” She has a lascivious kind of lilt in her voice. Martin gasps, looking as shocked and offended as he can muster. Meg punches him in the arm. “Hey, looks like fun to me, if you can get it go for it.”

“That is so not...my thing.” He takes a bite of the apricot, the nectar rich and syrupy on his tongue.

“He doesn’t look like he lets that get in his way,” Meg says, closing the back gate of her wagon.

Martin chews his fruit, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. No he doesn’t.”

\---

Martin spends a restless week at home with his mom, replacing weatherproofing and a few window screens that were battered by the last few winters. She all but kicks him out by Friday night, saying she’s going out with her girlfriends from her pottery class. His mom has more of a social life than he does, apparently.

Martin’s late getting in line but he makes the last afternoon ferry, just barely. 

By 6pm he’s got Tyler Seguin in his lap in the cab of his truck.

Martin was in line for a soda at the ferry cafe when Seguin spotted him, waved, and made up his mind to attach himself, apparently. Martin took a few bites of the ice cream float Seguin excitedly insisted they had to have, and looked out at the water, the green islands passing by. 

Seguin had a bit of ice cream on his mustache and Martin knew he was staring. Seguin lifted one eyebrow, asked where Martin was parked.

“Pretty sure this is frowned upon,” Martin says as Seguin reaches into his jeans, grinds his hips down against Martin’s thigh. 

They’re in the farthest, darkest row of cars on the crappy level of the ferry with no view - nothing to see and no one to see them. 

“Do you care?” Seguin says, stilling himself and leaning in to brush his mouth against Martin’s. His beard is neatly trimmed, soft and plush against Martin’s face. 

It’s been _so_ fucking long.

“Not enough to stop,” Martin grunts, breathless as Seguin squeezes around him, slides his hand up and down his length. 

“Cool,” Seguin says with a smirk, presses his mouth against Martin’s neck. Martin remembers in a flash that he’s a biter.

“Don’t...no marks,” Martin says with a quiver in his voice. He hates Seguin for being able to pull that sound out of him.

Seguin exhales a laugh, licks a wet kiss down his neck to his ear. “Not into showing it off, eh?”

“Not really…” Martin says, trailing off, trying not to think about Tyler, his neck, and kind of failing. Seguin strokes him harder, shifts his weight and pulls Martin’s focus back to kissing him on the mouth. 

Martin holds the back of his head, guides him into kissing him how he likes, a fight for control with a guy who is smaller than him, yet holding him down like he’s used to calling the shots. 

Martin grabs Seguin under his thighs, heaves him off onto the other side of the bench seat. Seguin yelps, caught off guard, but quickly licks his lips, yanks his own zipper down. Martin presses one hand to his chest, lowers his head and puts his mouth on Seguin’s abs. Seguin squirms and bucks his hips up, so fucking easy for it like nobody ever is for Martin.

“Fuck it,” Martin breathes out and takes Seguin in his mouth. 

Seguin is sweet, says all the right things, murmurs encouragements and weaves his hand into Martin’s hair but doesn’t pull. He tells Martin what he likes and Martin responds, squeezes with his mouth and his hand, gets his other hand on himself. 

Seguin gives him plenty of warning but Martin swallows him neatly down, wipes his mouth while he slicks his hand over himself. Seguin sits up, says, “no no, I got you...you’re good...so good, I got you,” strokes him and kisses him roughly until Martin comes in his palm.

Seguin watches him, quietly, while Martin finds a soft hoodie to wipe off on. He’s got iced tea in his thermos, takes a few long pulls off it before offering it to Seguin, too.

“Do me a favor,” Martin says, zipping up his jeans. “Don’t tell Tyler...Toff, about this.”

Seguin swallows some tea, looks at Martin. He opens his mouth to says something, closes it again. He takes another drink of tea and hands it back.

“He’s not a gossip or anything, y’know?” Seguin eventually says, wiping his mouth and beard with the sleeve of the sweatshirt. “Not like Jamie,” he adds, almost fondly.

“I know,” Martin says. He straightens out his clothes, gestures to the floorboard when Seguin wonders what to do with the crumpled up hoodie. “I just…” 

Seguin looks at him, brow furrowed intensely like he’s thinking too hard, for just a moment. Then it falls away, just like that. “You’re private. I got it.” Seguin winks, breezy as always.

“Yeah,” Martin says.

\---

Martin’s watching an afternoon baseball game at Schooners when Tyler shows up, leans next to him at the bar and orders a pitcher of beer. “You...oh you meeting someone?” Tyler hesitates before sitting down.

“No. You?” Martin glances at the game. Tyler looks relieved, slings a leg over and bumps into Martin as he takes a seat. 

“No. Just wanted to chill. Get out of my house for a while. Hey, I haven’t seen Jamie in a few days?” 

“Well...I saw Seguin.” Martin says, stares hard, straight ahead, at the pitch. Takes a sip of his beer and tries to stifle a bit of a smirk he can feel pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh...yeah, I think I’m. Done with that,” Tyler says, grabbing a handful of peanuts from Martin’s dish as a diversion but Martin sees his whole neck and face flush red.

Martin doesn’t want to tease him or make him feel bad, if he is feeling bad. Tyler had a serious girlfriend up until pretty recently, so Seguin was probably just a drunk hookup to blow off some steam. Martin...can’t say he didn’t do the same. He sips his beer and nods. “Yeah. Me too.”

Tyler’s eyebrows reach his hairline and he almost chokes on a peanut. “Martin fucking Jones!”

Tyler grabs another glass for Martin and pours him a beer. They laugh about it, and have the world’s mostly unlikely discussion of the relative merits and regrets of hooking up with Tyler Seguin, watching afternoon baseball.

Tyler laughs until his face is red, then downs the rest of his beer, shimmies his shoulders like he’s shivering off the whole conversation. He then kicks his foot out, bumps against the legs of Martin’s barstool on purpose. “Anyway. You should invite me over for dinner again.” He grins.

Martin laughs, puts his hand over his eyes. “Oh god...stoned beach talk. You’re not supposed to remember that.”

Tyler shrugs, the apples of his cheeks pink and glowing again. “Best invitation I’ve had in a while.”

“Yeah, I kinda doubt that. But you’re totally invited to dinner. Let me ask Meg what’s a good night.”

\---

Willie catches a forty pound coho salmon a few days later, and Martin figures that’s as good a night as he could ask for. 

He asks Meg in the kitchen while she’s making a marinade for the fish. Martin feels like he’s stammering, just a teenager asking to stay out past curfew. Meg looks like she considers giving him shit for about three seconds, but then relents, looks down at her cutting board and minces a huge chunk of ginger.

“Of course, we would love to have Tyler for dinner. We’ll probably turn the grill on...shit I don’t know, 5? 6? Ask Willie. Tyler can come over any time, Martin. Or, you know, any other...friend…”

“Ok stop.” Martin says, closing his eyes and shaking his head at her.

“Sorry, sorry.” Meg grins, sticks her tongue out the corner of her mouth, smashes five cloves of garlic at once with the flat of her knife. 

\---

“Bringing home a hockey player...every dad’s nightmare.” Willie grins, holding out his hand to shake Tyler’s when Martin shows him in. Martin rolls his eyes, but Tyler stands a little taller, looks proud to have Willie give him shit...which is actually kind of charming. Martin cocks his head, watching them, seeing them bring out the hockey guy in each other.

“Good to see you, sir,” Tyler says, almost painfully polite. Martin knows he’s not sucking up or anything - that’s just how Tyler was raised. Willie looks impressed for a moment then brushes it off, slaps Tyler on the back and puts a glass of red wine in his hand. 

They head off on a tour of the house, to see Willie’s photos and medals, to talk about their teams and teammates and Cups. Martin knows every award and every story, so he hangs back, offers to help Meg finish the salad.

“I don’t really need any help, sweetie.”

“Just let me, like slice something,” Martin requests, drumming his fingers on the counter. A knife in his hand would be grounding, the weight and the steel. 

“Are you _nervous_? About Tyler Toffoli? Oh Martin you do like him...I knew it. Here, eat that.” She slices off some long strips of bell pepper to keep him busy. He picks one up and chews on it, staring off out the front bay windows.

“Fuck,” he says, munching on pepper.

“You just figured it out, huh.”

“I guess so.”

\---

Tyler is smiling and looking thoroughly charmed by Willie when they round the corner back into the kitchen. 

“Grill’s hot, let’s throw him on,” Willie says, rubbing his hands together and picking up the huge tray holding the salmon. 

Meg slides Martin his own glass of wine, and, mercifully, takes over entertaining Tyler, chatting with him about the jam she made with his apricots. 

A strong ocean breeze blows in through the open patio doors, and Martin breathes it in, sips his wine.

\---

Meg’s marinade is crazy good on the fresh salmon - caramelized bits of ginger and tiny pops of garlic in syrupy reduced citrus juice cling to the fleshy side. On the bottom, crispy skin infused with smoke from the alder wood Willie adds to the flames. 

Tyler is a perfect dinner guest, asks questions about Meg’s food and about Willie’s oysters. He seems genuinely intrigued by Willie’s work, and Willie looks proud.

They do revert to hockey talk, only briefly, and Willie asks about Tanner’s injury, says he was watching when it happened. Tyler looks taken aback for just a moment, takes a swallow of wine before he answers. “I haven’t spoken to him, actually. But I’ve heard that his rehab is going well.”

Martin sees a look of concern pass quickly over Willie’s face, something that leaves him quiet and pensive. Willie quiet is rare, but Meg changes gears quickly. She asks Tyler if they’ve had any success getting the Blenheim apricot trees to propagate up here, which he seems relieved to talk about after Tanner is dropped as a topic. 

Martin watches him talk, but catches Willie’s eye across the table. He still can’t read his face.

\---

Tyler insists on helping with the dishes, and he and Martin get the job done easily while Willie and Meg head upstairs.

“They’re really great,” Tyler says, a well-fed, happy smile on his face as he dries a big ceramic platter.

“Oh, they’re awesome. They basically saved my sanity when we were in high school.”

Tyler’s face looks tight for a moment, like he might say something different, then changes his mind. “I really love this house. I could get a place like this up here. Never really thought about it before. Like. My parents’ place...the farm...that’s like, where I go back to, you know? But I could have my own place, a place to get away to.”

Martin looks at him, nods, tries to get a feel for what he’s saying. “What’s your place like in California?”

Tyler takes a sip of wine through grim lips, kind of shakes his head. “Don’t have one right now. Staying with a buddy, Martinez. I’ll have to...that’s something I’ll have to deal with when I go back.”

Martin nods, holds out his hand without thinking. “Come on, let’s go out on the porch. It’s beautiful.” 

Tyler looks as surprised as Martin, but folds his dish towel, and slips his hand lightly into Martin’s. They take their wine glasses and sit, fingertips loosely laced together, listen to the waves and the tide coming in far below.

“So, hey,” Tyler says suddenly. “Pears...Tanner told me some stuff. About like, high school.”

“Ok?” Martin asks, taking a sip of his wine and eying Tyler a bit warily.

“How come you never told me?” Tyler asks suddenly, turning his whole body toward Martin.

“Told you...what?” 

Tyler drops his voice, a gentle whisper. “That you knew you were gay.”

“Wait, what? Why were you and Tanner talking about that?” Martin is floored, and kind of embarrassed by the rush of the memory coming back to him, the shame and anger Tanner once made him feel.

Tyler shrugs, purses his lips into a flat line and looks at Martin. “We were...for a while...we talked about a lot of things. I guess it just came up?” Tyler says carefully, takes a sip. “He’s kind of a dick. I mean. It sounds like he was. To you.”

“Yeah.” Martin agrees, tries to brush it off. He stares into his glass and thinks, chances a look back at Tyler. 

“Well?” Tyler asks, his cheeks darkened, wine and shadows and moonlight.

“I didn’t tell you. I don’t know...I only told Tanner, like, blurted it out, because of the...situation.” He ducks his head, pauses for another drink. “It’s not like I told loads of people and just didn’t tell you. He was just...he was an asshole but we were just idiot teenagers. And I didn’t want you to like. Think differently of me. Or something.”

“But I was your best friend,” Tyler says, lips pursed at the rim of his glass.

“I know. I just...I didn’t feel like it mattered. Honestly I thought I’d like, go to college and get a serious boyfriend and just explain it when that happened…but.”

“Oh. So you’re not, like seeing anybody?” He’s still looking at Martin, his face calm, and curious.

Martin shakes his head. “Nobody really notices me, you know? I guess that’s why I got left alone in high school, instead of getting picked on.”

“Martin, you’re six foot four, and you’re...pretty good to look at. I’m sure people notice you.” Martin feels his face flush, turns away from Tyler and swallows, staring out at the ocean.

Tyler hums, drums his fingers lightly on the his glass. “Sorry about Pears. He was kind of an asshole in high school and he’s kind of an asshole now. At least he’s predictable?” Tyler pauses with a grim smile at his own joke, looks like he’s measuring his words carefully. “Or maybe, he just has his own shit. To deal with. Anyway.”

Tyler is quiet after that, leaves Martin with a hug and a soft, shy smile. “See you...next week?”

Martin tips his head against the doorframe, doesn’t really want him to leave but doesn’t quite know how to get him to stay. “Yeah. Next weekend. I’ll be back.”

\---

Martin makes the drive to the marina, sees Aaron sitting on a workbench in some beat up cargo shorts, worn and splattered with boat paint, one long leg propped on up a pylon. He goes and sits beside him while they wait for the boats.

“So flat this morning,” Martin remarks.

“Yeah. Too flat. Too much yellow sky. Storm coming.”

“You think?”

Aaron nods, points off in the distance. “See how it looks sort of wavy, the air over the horizon?” Martin squints. He’s not sure if he can see it or not. 

Aaron has that strange islander thing about him though, like Willie has, and Martin likes being around him. Not just because he’s pretty easy on the eyes - he’s built like he has years on the water, strong back and thick thighs - but Martin likes the calm feeling he gets watching Aaron and Willie talk, speaking with the water rather than about it, a shared language. Martin can’t figure out if he’s right out of high school or a seasoned mariner. 

Aaron helps dock and consults seriously with Willie about the weather when he comes in, their heads bowed close together as they survey the horizon. They get the oysters loaded into Martin’s truck, and Aaron assures Willie he’ll be staying at the marina to keep an eye on things regardless of the storm materializing or not, and will get his boat secured for the worst. 

Willie comes to his window as he’s starting his engine, and Martin rolls it down for him to lean into. Willie rubs his hand over his beard, silver hairs glinting in the early morning light. 

“A couple things. I’m not a gossip, and I don’t get into...personal things, with many people. But Toffoli. It’s strange him not knowing how Pears is doing. That’s his liney. You might not get that, but it’s more than a teammate. They’ll have a closeness, like soldiers, I guess. So something happened there.” 

Willie pauses, like he’s waiting for Martin to confirm he hears what he’s saying. Martin nods, slowly, doesn’t look away from Willie’s intense gaze. 

“Two, him being home like this the entire summer, hanging around on the family farm...he’s a big star, kid. I don’t know him like you do, maybe he’s different, maybe he just needed to get away from the life...but I don’t know any other hotshot hockey stars spending their summer selling stone fruit with their folks. It’s unusual, that’s all.”

Martin swallows, nods again. “He could never wait to get out of here, actually. But he seems like he doesn’t want to be in California even more.”

Willie murmurs a hum of agreement, looks back out over the water. “I only bring it up because maybe he needs to talk to a friend. A good friend. But he’s kinda isolated himself out here. And maybe that’s what he needed to do. But also, y’know...maybe he needs someone to check in on him.”

“I don’t know his life now, though. I don’t know hockey and fame and all that shit.” Martin shrugs.

Willie shakes his head. “Where he lives, he can disappear if he wants. Big place, bigger stars than him...and hockey goes away on its own in the summer. It’s probably not hockey he’s out here to get away from.”

\---

Jamie finds Martin at the market before the lunch rush, with a deep dish peach pie in his hand for Meg. “Can I steal him for a minute?” he asks Meg, batting his big dumb eyelashes.

“Of course. If you’re going to get fish tacos, bring me one though.”

“Yes ma’am,” Jamie says, because he’s like that, like Tyler.

Heavy, just on the verge of menacing clouds hover on the outer edges of the sky as they walk. Jamie takes them out of the market and down the grassy slope that turns into the little park, onto a dirt path past the playground. 

“Where are we going?” Martin asks once and Jamie just shakes his head and keeps walking. There are a few kids swinging, and some guys setting up sound equipment for an outdoor concert later, also looking like they’re keeping a skeptical eye on the sky. 

Jamie picks a seat on an old wooden picnic bench and sits, dramatically.

“Jamie, what?” Martin is exasperated with him already.

“It’s about Tyler.”

“Which one?” Martin asks, only half kidding. 

“Toff. We’ll talk about the other one later,” Jamie says with a hand wave.

“Ok?” Martin says quizzically, jiggles his foot a little nervously trying to stay patient. Sometimes Jamie makes it hard.

”Ok. I ran into Taylore’s sister Christa the other day, remember her? So she asked if I had weed and I said sure, and we go to Hyde’s Beach to smoke. And she tells me this fucking story.”

“Ok…” 

“So you know Tanner Pearson?” Martin’s anxiety multiplies when he hears his name again.

“Yeah, of course. Knew him until he moved away. And he plays on Tyler’s team now, right?”

“Yes. Ok. So the year after they won the Cup, those two started _dating_. Like, not just hooking up. Seriously, like a couple.”

“Who? Tanner? What?”

“That’s when him and Taylore broke up. He liked Tanner, and told her he needed to like, find himself or whatever. But wait!”

“Jamie, what the fuck…” Martin feels sick.

“So Tanner had a girl too, back home, but Tanner tells him she’s out of the picture now, eh? Tyler moves in with Tanner. They were like, for real serious, people on their team even knew. They talked about being out like, in the open and shit, do you know how crazy that is?”

“Oh god.” Martin closes his eyes. He almost doesn’t want to hear the rest.

“Tanner breaks his leg. It’s real bad, he has surgery and all that. He’s home, like, a day. His parents are coming to take care of him, right? Because Tyler’s all shacked up with him but they don’t know that, and he’s still got games. The parents come...with the girlfriend. She’s still his fucking girlfriend! He never broke up with her!” 

Martin tries to breathe, puts his hands out toward Jamie to try to slow him down and Jamie seems to get it, finally takes a breath himself and sits a little lower in his seat before he goes on.

“So Tyler thought they were together and were going to like, go public and be a big gay hockey couple. Boom, girlfriend shows up, playing house, like it was nothing. Like he hasn’t been sleeping in Tanner’s bed for months...Tyler packs some shit and goes to his teammate’s house for the rest of the season - well, short fucking season. Then he came back here.” Jamie folds his hands, finished, finally. 

He stares at Martin with those big wide eyes and Martin kind of feels his heart break. “Holy shit.”

Jamie pauses another minute, squints up at the sky, ostensibly to let everything settle in but probably for the drama of it, Martin thinks. “So you like him, right?”

“What?” That was literally the farthest thing from his mind. “What the fuck, Jamie?”

“You know each other better than anybody and you both like dudes, so…” Jamie does that stupid eyebrow thing he must have learned from Seguin.

“We used to know each other...I don’t know anymore. And may I be the first to point out that you also currently like a dude?”

“Oh...that’s...different,” Jamie says, suddenly less animated, looking tight around his mouth.

“Why?” Martin asks point blank. Fuck it, he figures at this point.

Jamie looks flustered, glances around like someone might care or be listening on their dumb island drama. “He’s like, you know, fucking around with everybody. Tyler messed around with him, I know he did. But I forgive him because now I know he has some shit to work out. Shit, you might have even--”

“I did.”

Jamie laughs his big stupid honking laugh, maybe half in amusement and half in disbelief, Martin estimates. “What? Seriously?”

“Yeah. I felt a little bad so I might as well tell you.” Martin puts his hands up in a shrug, not really having a better excuse to offer. “I was frustrated and he has like a radar for that shit. It wasn’t a big deal, sorry. I mean we didn’t like...you know.” 

Jamie’s cheeks flush a few shades of red. “No. No we haven’t...nothing like that. I haven’t…”

“You do not have to tell me about your sex life,” Martin holds his hands up to stop him.

“Who else would I talk to though?” Jamie practically whines, and Martin realizes, on top of everything else, that Jamie has totally fallen for the slutty goat cheese boy.

“Wait, are we out here to talk about my Tyler situation or yours?” Martin teases, trying for a little levity. His foot is still jittering a mile a minute under the table, and all he can think about is going to see Tyler.

Jamie shrugs. Wipes his hand over his face and then props his head up on his hand. “Fuck. I just wanted to tell you what I heard. He’s probably pretty messed up about it.”

Martin remembers a hundred times he saw Tyler upset, heartbroken, saw him cry in third grade over some kids teasing him about his family being poor when they went through a rough time, over a cruel teacher calling him stupid in sixth because he was slow to read. A coach in eighth grade told him he wasn’t big enough to play hockey and might as well quit wasting his parents’ time and money. 

Tyler was fast and had soft hands and his lip quivered when Martin asked him what was wrong. 

But Tyler came to Martin to borrow books so he could get better at reading, he came to Martin when his family had a barbeque to celebrate a bountiful year, he came to Martin when he heard scouts were coming all the way to the island to see him play.

“Yeah. I bet he is,” Martin agrees. 

\---

The clouds are darkening in the distance and the air is taking on the unsettling, crackling feel that comes before a storm. Martin sees Tyler weighing a basket of peaches and plums, dumping them into a canvas bag for a customer. When they finish, Tyler sees him and smiles.

“Come over for dinner again. Tonight,” Martin blurts out before he has a chance to think.

“Hello Martin, nice to see you too. Looks like a storm, what do you think?” Tyler says, quirking his mouth at Martin dubiously.

Martin sighs heavily, shoves his hands in his pockets. Stares down at his feet for a moment before looking back up at Tyler. “Yeah. I think it’s going to storm. It’ll look awesome from Willie’s porch. Come on. I’m cooking.”

Tyler chews on his lip, but never looks away from Martin’s face. Slowly starts to nod. “Ok. I’ll be there.”

\--- 

Willie, and old island wisdom, say you can’t eat fish during a storm. Martin picks up a whole chicken - from Taylore’s family, because they’re still the best - and Meg helps him stuff it with lemons and lavender. They glaze it with olive oil and honey, and put it in to slow roast.

“You ok?” Meg asks, rubbing her hand over Martin’s back while he cleans the knives, the cutting board. He realizes he’s been staring into space and absently wiping a 10 inch blade with a thin cotton towel - probably not the safest time to zone out.

“Yeah...just. Weird stuff, kinda happening.”

“Tyler?”

“Yeah. You called that one, I guess.”

Meg smiles sadly at him. “Well if it’s making you unhappy, I’m sorry I was right...but not that sorry. You’ve been friends a long time. I think you’ll work it out.”

“I think he might be really messed up. Like...someone hurt him really bad.”

Meg frowns, puts her hand on top of Martin’s. “That truly sucks. God, who could hurt that kid. He looks like he’d cry if he stepped on a bug.”

Martin sniffs, a soft laugh through his nose. “Yeah. Pretty much. But he also always had this weird confidence. Not cocky, just like, he believed in himself, like really strongly for an island kid. But he didn’t feel like he had to fight or prove he was better than this place, he just...waited his turn. I’m not making any sense.”

“Not really. But that’s ok. Love doesn’t really make sense.”

“Jesus christ, Meg.”

“Oops. Sorry. You do though. Probably did for a long time.” She shrugs. “C’mon let’s start drinking.”

\---

They’re down three quarters of a bottle of burgundy when Tyler arrives, thunder rumbling in the distance behind him when Martin opens the door. His eyes look electric blue in the eerie light, and Martin has to stop himself from saying something stupid like, _you’re beautiful_ , or _let’s eat this chicken in bed_. 

“It bad out there yet?” Meg asks while Tyler gets settled on a chair. She has another bottle open and decanted, pours a big glass for him. 

“Just wind and thunder,” Tyler says, taking the glass. “Thank you,” he adds. Martin smiles, sits beside him. 

“No lightning yet but, it’ll come. Tyler if it’s bad tonight, you should just plan on spending the night. You’re not leaving my house in a torrential downpour late at night.”

“Yes ma’am. I already, I mean I figured it might get bad. I kinda told my mom I wouldn’t be home,” Tyler stammers, blushes furiously, though he turns his head so he thinks Martin can’t see.

“Well good,” Meg says, laying out a cheese board with tiny slices of bread and honeycomb. “I’m going to wake Willie up. He crashed this afternoon, y’all were up so early. Dinner in a little while, you boys eat that, ok?”

Martin looks at Tyler, eating a bite of goat brie from France that Seguin _certainly_ did not make. The thunder rolls outside, closer than before. Martin feels almost nauseous from the sense of anticipation, of wondering what’s coming. He swallows some wine and manages to say, “I’m glad you came.”

Tyler smiles, slow and soft, breaks off another tiny bit of cheese. He looks up at Martin with pink cheeks. “Me too.”

\---

The four of them make quick work of a whole roast chicken, Martin licking sticky honey and lavender from his fingers while Tyler serves them more salad. 

“So good, babe. Best yet.” Willie says, leans in to kiss Meg on the lips. It’s sweet...they’re sweet, and maybe Martin is a little buzzed from wine.

“I love a summer storm.” Willie says after a huge flash of lightning, sipping his wine. “Disperses negative ions, you know?”

Tyler looks at Martin with a wrinkled brow and Martin laughs, shakes his head. “I _don’t_ know actually. What do the ions do?”

Willie stares into his wine as he swirls his glass. “Produce happy brain chemicals. Lighten things that feel heavy...just basically make you feel good. You two ought to sit out on the porch and listen to the storm, ‘til the wind gets too bad. I’ll do dishes tonight.” 

Meg looks at Willie fondly, reaches over to pat him on the thigh. 

Martin feels pretty good already, warm and full and calmer than before. “Thanks...I think we’ll do that,” he says, looks at Tyler and Tyler blushes, looks down at his plate and chases a few blueberries with his salad fork. 

“Yes sir,” Tyler says shyly. The pattering of rain against the big glass doors finally kicks in, a thrumming, syncopated rhythm. Martin feels Tyler’s hand fumbling for his under the table, and awkwardly tangles their fingers together. Willie smiles over the rim of his glass.

\---

The rain is steady, a dripping drumbeat of falling water all around them, just beyond the cover of the porch. Tyler leans over the railing, reaches out one hand at a time to draw it back in soaking wet and then shake it off, touch his wet fingers to his cheeks. Martin does it too, the rain cool and clarifying on his face, too warm from red wine, from Tyler.

Martin feels the moment that the heaviness lifts, and there’s nothing left but them, fingertips and rain on wet skin. He looks down at Tyler, at a drop of water running down his arm, follows it until it’s gone and when he looks up, Tyler’s looking back at him, eyes wide and lovely and a little scared. 

Martin reaches one hand, touches Tyler’s shoulder, gently, and Tyler sighs, falls against him, heavy and solid.

“Martin, I’m…” Tyler pauses, chews on his lip, looks away from him, out into the downpour. “I want to. But I’m kind of a mess and I’ll probably fuck it up.”

Martin shrugs, not letting go of Tyler’s shoulder. “I don’t care. Maybe we’ll fuck it up together. Just...if it’s ok...god, Tyler.” Martin breathes in. He waits, just another second more at the end of so many years.

Tyler nods, presses close to Martin’s chest and rushes out, just a few quick breaths, “yeah, yeah it’s ok,” and Martin bends to kiss him. _Finally_ , Martin thinks, his mouth pressed over Tyler’s, Tyler breathing back, steady and even. Martin crowds him against the porch railing, leans into his body, chests and thighs touching.

“Holy fuck.” Tyler mumbles the words into Martin’s lips.

“How. How have I never kissed you before?” Martin asks, mouth not breaking contact with Tyler’s.

Tyler shakes his head, keeps his lips tilted up, open for Martin. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Martin bends to him again, kisses him until they both need to breathe. “Coulda been doing this for years.”

“Fuck. I had no idea. I’m so…”

Martin takes Tyler’s head in his hands, presses their foreheads together. “No no no. Me too. Just keep kissing me.”

Tyler pulls him down, his lips back to his. “Mmmkay.”

\---

They’re soaking and shivering by the time they make it back to Martin’s bed. He opens his balcony doors so they can still hear the rain, turns to see Tyler stripping out of his wet shirt. 

“Towel?” Tyler asks, blinking slowly at Martin as they adjust to lamplight. Martin is slow to focus, can’t stop looking at Tyler’s chest, at the breadth of his shoulders, at the muscles he’s never seen. 

“Yeah, here.” He gets one from the wardrobe in the corner, tosses it to Tyler, then takes off his own wet clothes in the bathroom, hangs them over the shower. Tyler follows him, silently does the same. Tyler towels at his hair while Martin finds him a toothbrush, tries not to blatantly stare at Tyler’s body, not just now. They take turns in the bathroom, get ready for bed.

Martin folds back the comforter, gets into cool, crisp sheets naked, pulls Tyler in with him. 

They press together, purposeful, Tyler sliding up Martin’s body, his thigh between Martin’s legs, his mouth on Martin’s mouth.

“This is crazy,” Martin says, mouthing kisses along Tyler’s jawbone, Tyler grinding a little against Martin’s hip.

“Nah...it’s good.” Tyler breathes out against Martin’s neck, pushes his hand down between Martin’s thighs. They’re both hard already, and Martin thrusts up into his hand, sighs when Tyler wraps his fingers around, strokes.

“Oh my god…” Martin can’t think, still can’t quite believe this is happening. He rubs up and down Tyler’s back, his ass, wants to touch Tyler everywhere all at once.

Tyler pushes up to kiss him, still rubbing against Martin’s thigh and Martin gets his hand over Tyler as best he can, smooths over the head, feels it wet in his palm. “Yeah, like that…” Tyler moans, a little breathless and Martin knows immediately he wants to make him sound like that as many times as he possibly can.

Tyler bites into his shoulder when he comes and Martin gasps, holds Tyler tight against him. Tyler doesn’t stop, mouths down Martin’s chest and keeps his hand going, kisses all the way down below the sheets and gets his mouth around Martin, just a push in the tight press of his lips and that’s it.

\---

Martin wakes up at sunrise, turns to look out the window and see if the weather has cleared out. He’s momentarily surprised to see another body in his bed, then overcome with bliss to remember that it’s Tyler.

Martin stretches, then rolls over to curl up behind him, wraps an arm around his hips to pull him close. Tyler murmurs in his sleep, settles against Martin’s chest. Martin kisses his shoulder, and falls back asleep.

When he wakes up again he smells a faint aroma of coffee wafting up to his room, and his stomach rumbles angrily that it’s time to get up. He kisses Tyler where he’s sleeping, and eases out of the bed. Tyler rustles, turns over to see Martin.

“Hi.”

“Hey.” Martin says, smiling easy and feeling his stomach flip when Tyler smiles back. “Stay in bed. I’ll bring up coffee.”

“Romantic,” Tyler grumbles, rubbing his hand through his hair. 

“Shut up,” Martin laughs, squeezing Tyler’s foot under the sheets as he walks out of the room.

“No I like it. Treat a guy real nice, Martin.”

Martin blushes, shakes his head and opens his bedroom door. “I’ll be right back.”

Downstairs there’s coffee, and a note from Meg. _Make Him Eggs_ , it reads across the top in loopy, flourishy cursive, then a note saying they’ve gone to the marina to meet Aaron and clean up the boat from the storm. 

At the bottom is the partial recipe for her uni scrambled eggs, which Martin knows is a well-guarded secret. He thinks he can probably recreate it, but coffee first. He opens the fridge to get out cream, and sees the sea urchin, opened for him by Meg and loosely draped with a dish towel, waiting in a glass dish. 

Tyler has taken his coffee the same since high school - lots of cream lots of sugar. Martin makes two big mugs and carries them upstairs. The French doors are wide open, the breeze off the sound billowing the shades and filling Martin’s room with fresh air. _Negative ions_ , Martin thinks, smiling.

Tyler is outside, pants on but no shirt, leaning against the porch railing and stretching, one leg behind him with his hand on his foot. 

Martin sets the coffees down on the railing, Tyler reaching for his desperately. He sips, and smiles, sips again. Martin can’t stop looking at him. He takes a few swallows of coffee, waits to feel more alive, then sets his cup down so he can get his hands on Tyler again. Tyler leans into his arms, makes a happy humming noise, clutching his mug to his chest.

“You gonna keep me here a while?”

Martin kisses his shoulders, feels Tyler shudder in his arms. “I feel like I probably should, eh?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we waited long enough.”

“I’m gonna make you breakfast.”

“Then you’re definitely gonna keep me,” Tyler says, leaning into Martin and chasing his lips as Martin starts to pull away.

“Come sit with me while I cook.” Martin says decisively, holding out his hand.

“Ok.” Tyler nods once, looks down at his coffee mug, then back up at Martin, his mouth and eyes soft. “You wanna hear my sad story?”

Martin swallows, steadies himself. “Only if you want to tell one.”

Tyler reaches out to take his offered hand. “Yeah. I think I’m ready.”

\---

Martin puts a spoonful of butter into a heavy pot, breaks a half dozen eggs into a bowl, and turns the stove on low, while Tyler talks. 

He comes around the counter to kiss Tyler when he looks like he needs it. He looks like he needs it a _lot_. 

“It’s my fault, too. I pushed him, probably. I should have just...it was a Cup hookup, should have left it at that. I didn’t want to...I wanted to keep it. I was stupid.”

Martin shakes with anger, hearing him say that. “No, no no don’t...fuck him. He was a coward and that is not your fault. You...fuck, you were willing to give him everything. He’s an asshole.”

“I should have been smarter. I just...neither of us knew what we were doing. I thought we’d figure it out together, is all.” Tyler looks mournful as he says it, but also relieved to be getting it out. That he’s open to Martin’s probably overwhelming affection and receptive to his probably overwhelming feelings right now seems crazy to Martin, but he can’t help himself. 

Martin takes his face in his hands, sinks his fingers into Tyler’s curls and looks at him, seriously. “Do we...do I need to slow down? I’ll do whatever you...I’m just…”

Tyler shakes his head emphatically, says, “no. No you’re...this is...so good.” Tyler’s lip trembles and Martin leans in, kisses the corners of his mouth. Tyler takes his hands in his, weaving their fingers together, closes his eyes, kisses him back until Martin finally, gently backs off.

“I can’t let the eggs get tough.” Martin says, tries, hesitantly, to let go.

Tyler chases his lips, teasing him with a soft, sad smile when he finally shoves him away. “You kissed me, bud.” 

Martin groans, finally turns back to his cooking. He stirs the eggs carefully, keeping the heat very low. He tears the uni gently apart with his fingers, and when the eggs are almost set, turns the heat off and folds the torn pieces in. He snips tiny chives with Meg’s tiny scissors, and tries to zest a lemon as nicely as she does. It’s not as perfect as hers, but he thinks it looks pretty good.

Tyler holds his bowl like it’s something precious, looks down at it, heavily, after Martin hands it to him.

“What? The fat?”

“Yeah...off-season...fuck it. We having toast?”

“Oh, yeah, shit.” Martin grabs the thick slices of Meg’s sourdough from under the broiler. He pushes the butter over to Tyler with an arched eyebrow. “Uni’s really good for you. But that’s between you and your nutritionist, I guess.”

Tyler thoughtfully takes a spoonful of eggs, and downright _moans_ when he gets it in his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head. Martin watches him, greedily, happily shovels the eggs, rich, creamy, and salty with pungent sea urchin, into his mouth with his toast. They sit at the counter, smiling shyly at each other through mouthfuls of eggs, knees and feet knocking together.

\---

They set their bowls on the floor for Pinot to lick clean, and drag each other back to bed. 

Martin never really found what they say about oysters to be true for him, but damn if uni doesn’t make him horny as hell. 

It’s more this time, more everything. They’re probably rushing it but Martin hasn’t had anyone inside him in so long and he _wants_. Tyler feels so perfect, pressing and stretching, fingering him so gently as he goes and making sure Martin feels good.

“This was...this was a long time coming.” Martin slaps his hand over his face, grinning stupidly as he realizes what he said, Tyler still squirming and rubbing against his thigh even though they’re both wet, sticky with each other.

Tyler murmurs a laugh, mouth still attached to Martin’s neck, and Martin feels it, feels the marks left from Tyler’s teeth and feels Tyler’s words against his throat. “Yeah it was. I don’t have to go back to California for like...a couple months.”

Martin swallows, wraps his hand around Tyler’s hips and pulls him closer because that _sucks_ and he doesn’t want to think about it. “Don’t know if that’s gonna be long enough,” he says, as honestly as he can with Tyler’s lips still working wet little bites into his skin.

Tyler lifts his head, slow and lazy, slings his legs across Martin’s thighs with a smile as he ducks down, and Martin doesn’t even think he can come again but Tyler bites down, presses their cocks together with the flat of his hand. “We’ll have to make the most of it, then.”

\---

Martin takes way more breaks from then on, and eats way too many peaches. Meg gives him knowing, indulgent looks when he pops a couple dozen oysters open and gets them ready for her, leaves them covered on ice under the shade. He mouths _sorry!_ and kisses her on the cheek, but she shoos him off, sends him on his way across the market. 

He waves when he sees Seguin, standing by and giggling uncontrollably as Jamie struggles with a baby goat in his arms. Seguin grins and waves, still watching Jamie fondly, an arm around his shoulder and a hand on the goat.

Martin smiles, feels good about that, goes to see Tyler. Tyler blushes when he sees him, breaks away with an excuse and hauls Martin out behind the big box trucks.

Martin comes back to work with fruit as an offering, his lips swollen from kissing. He feels good about that too.

Tyler comes over most nights, Willie and Meg seemingly ecstatic to have him. Tyler looks happy here, and Martin doesn’t know Tyler anywhere else.

\---

The new month brings Summer Ices, Martin’s favorite oyster. Willie leaves at four in the morning to get them under cover of darkness, taking Martin with him on the second week because the suspensions are so heavy he needs help, Martin _and_ Aaron on the third week. 

It’s 5 am and Martin might be delirious, but he loves watching Willie and Aaron together. Aaron gets Willie, gets the work, knows where to go and what rope to pull when, muscles in his back rippling under his shirt. Martin helps better by staying out of their way or handing them a bucket when they need it.

Martin is maybe not the most helpful heavy lifter, but he makes sure to tell Tyler about his morning on the boat and how much his shoulders ache. Tyler outright laughs at him, which he deserves, goes back to weighing out cherries into paper bags.

Tyler shows up that night with a bottle of wine and a tube of medicated massage gel from his team trainer. He gets Martin naked and rubs his shoulders and back after dinner, and Martin falls a little more in love with him. 

“You’re too good to me,” he says nonsensically, face muffled into his pillow.

Tyler pauses, makes his fingers firm as he digs into Martin’s trapezius muscles, leans over to press a kiss to Martin’s shoulder blade. “You don’t know how good you’ve been for me.” Martin feels a whiff of anxiety at that, at the looming fear of Tyler seeing an end date on this. Everything feels good and _right_ and like more than just a summer fling that ends when Tyler’s hockey season begins. It can’t. 

He pushes that away, closes his eyes and tries to relax into the feel of Tyler’s hands on his body, let the muscle tension and the worry both seep out of him.

Martin turns over onto his back when Tyler’s done, holds Tyler right where he was, kisses him until they’re both aching all over again. Tyler gets them both ready, sinks himself down onto Martin with a slow hiss. Martin holds his breath, watching, can hardly contain the crazy things he wants to babble at Tyler, how much he loves him, how he can’t leave him again to play fucking hockey, how it feels when he’s fully inside him like this. 

He holds on, lets Tyler roll his hips, testing out the feel until he figures out what he likes. He watches the flush of red spread up Tyler’s chest and neck, keeps him down, low and close, to kiss him, to take in every little sound and gasp from Tyler’s throat.

His hands scrabble across Tyler’s chest, pinch and tweak at his nipples and Tyler groans, high and breathy cries as he works himself up and down. Tyler hums against his lips, pushes himself up and forward and then back down with a force that surprises even him, maybe, and Martin can’t take it anymore. “‘The fuck are you doing to me, babe?” 

Tyler thrusts down again from his hips and thighs, drags Martin’s hand down his belly to wrap around himself. “Need it, need you. You...yeah like that, fuck,” Tyler squeezes and his thighs shake and Martin comes with a shudder but he doesn’t stop fucking him, touching him. He fists his hand over Tyler until Tyler comes too, collapses on Martin, heavy on his chest while Martin goes soft, gently eases out of him. 

Tyler sighs, makes no motion to move off of him, murmuring and laughing and kissing his chest. “Gonna be messy.”

“Maybe. That’s ok.” Martin strokes a hand softly up and down his back.

Tyler shifts a little, soft waves of hair tickling Martin’s skin. “Love you.”

Martin’s breath catches, but only barely. “Yeah. Good thing. Love you too.”

\---

Martin wakes up to a quiet knock on his door in the morning. It’s pretty unusual for Willie or Meg to come up here. He gets up quickly and throws on some sweats. 

On the floor outside is a tray with two cups of coffee, two muffins, and a carefully re-folded section of newspaper. Martin rubs his eyes in confusion, picks the whole tray up and brings it in. He sees the piece of paper is the sports section and lays it on Tyler’s chest, setting the coffees down so he can get back in bed. 

“I think that’s for you,” he says quietly when Tyler cracks his eyelids open. He hands Tyler his coffee, watches him rub his hand over his face and hair to try to wake up enough to focus. Tyler finally takes a sip, flips the paper over the right way. Martin watches his eyes scan, then his lips reading along.

Tyler drops the paper, stares out the window. 

“Pears got traded. He’s going to Toronto.” He sets his coffee down and gets up, slowly, maybe a little gingerly. He pads quietly to Martin’s bathroom, closes the door. 

Martin isn’t sure what to do. He strains to listen - for what? to see if he’s...crying? he’s probably not crying, right? Then he mentally scolds himself for not giving Tyler his privacy. He just doesn’t know _what to do_. He doesn’t know how to do this right, how to be the boyfriend, how to not be the _asshole_ boyfriend.

He hears the shower turn on. He drinks his coffee, picks at one of the muffins. It’s really good, of course, but his heart isn’t in it. He burrows back down under the covers, trying to calm himself down. He hears the shower turn off. 

Tyler finally comes back out, scrubbed fresh, wet clean hair slicked back, glowing and grinning from ear to ear.

“Oh thank fuck, you’re happy,” Martin says, smacking himself in the face as he throws the sheets off and sits up again. 

Tyler practically bounces back to him, flings himself onto the bed, takes Martin’s face in his hands and pulls him on top of him. “I just went from seeing him nearly every day of my life, all day, all season, to seeing him twice a year. Ok maybe more if we somehow wound up in the playoffs, but...twice a year. Yes, I am shitty, shallow, stupid happy.”

Tyler kisses him, hard and squirmy and demanding. Martin takes it, gives it, holds Tyler down and kisses him until he settles, sighs happily under Martin’s mouth. 

Martin finally pulls back a little, props his head in his hand, drags the other hand around in slow circles on Tyler’s chest. “One day, you know, you might need to talk to him. Clear the...ions, or whatever.”

Tyler nods. “I know. And I will. But not any time soon.” He pulls Martin back down.

“Yeah. Yeah, this is good for you. Right?” Martin asks between kisses and Tyler burying his face in Martin’s neck.

Tyler bites down on the spot his mouth was working, chews and laughs and sits up with a start. “I...holy shit I actually can’t wait to get back now.”

Martin’s face falls, because _fuck_ , there it is. He tries to recover, tries to clear his throat before he speaks but he knows his voice cracks. “You must miss it.” _Fuck_.

“I miss skating. I miss my friends and. Oh...oh no no no, Martin.” Tyler catches up, sees Martin’s face and rolls them over, pushes up with his arms so he can hover over Martin, shaking his head and biting his lip.

“Tyler it’s your job. You have a whole life down there.” Martin puts a hand on his hip, looks up at him, miserably in love.

“No, you’re coming with me.”

“I’m not. What are you even...to California?”

“Yes. I’m going back to have a meeting, and I’m gonna find a house. Or a realtor’s gonna find me a house, more likely. And then you’re gonna come with me.”

“You’re out of your mind. I can’t do that. How do you even know - ” Martin stops himself just in time from saying something truly stupid.

“Know what? That I want this?”

“Y-yeah. That we’re...ready for that.”

Tyler hangs his head, gnaws on his lip. “We’ll figure it out. Do you...do you want that, with me? Am I being crazy?”

Martin grabs him, pins him in his arms and tries to kiss the sad look that’s forming on Tyler’s face away. “You’re not crazy. I would...I would totally want that. It’s just...I can’t just _do_ that.”

“Of course you can. I live at the beach, Martin. There’s a million little places...you can do oysters, you can _cook_ , you can keep taking classes if you want.”

“I’m not a cook! People go to chef school for that shit.”

“Ok so,” Tyler shrugs. “Something different. Like teach the restaurants about oysters, like Willie did. So they sell the right ones and don’t fuck up the environment and all that.”

Martin puts his face to Tyler’s chest, tries to stifle his laugh. “You are fucking crazy,” he says, kissing Tyler’s ribs.

“This is good, Martin. It’s amazing...and I want it. I’m ready for it. I might screw it all up again but I don’t want to walk away from it.”

Martin lifts one of Tyler’s hands in his, holds them up in the sunlight to look at them, pressed together. He pulls Tyler’s fingers to his mouth, kisses his fingertips. “It is. It’s really good. Let’s...we’ll figure it out. Or we’ll royally fuck it up. But together.”

“Exactly,” Tyler says with a grin, rolling and pulling Martin with him, settling him between his thighs.

\---

Aaron’s already at the slip getting the boat ready when Martin gets there in the morning. He goes inside and buys a cup of coffee, holds it in both hands while he waits for Willie.

“Hey,” Martin says, getting Aaron’s attention. “You’re year ‘round, right?” Aaron nods, glances at him as he loops a length of rope between his huge hands, tosses it onto the deck. 

Martin watches him on Willie’s boat, how he looks like he belongs there, how he and Willie speak the same language that Martin never quite mastered, though he lived here his whole life. “What do you know about oysters?”

Aaron smiles, looks up at Martin as he lashes a line to a clamp. “Everything.”

\---

For as big and rugged a guy as Aaron is on the boat, he has a surprisingly soft touch with a knife in his hand. Meg smiles serenely, watching Aaron shuck some late season Emerald Coves, probably the last of the year. The shells glisten in Aaron’s huge hand, and he points the tip of his knife into one a second time before holding them out. “That one’s got a pearl,” he says, his sweet toothy smile taking over his face. Yeah, he’s going to go over _great_ with the customers. 

Meg tips the pearl into her hand, eats her oyster, and places it back in the shell, handing it to Aaron. “You give it to Willie. He’ll be thrilled.” Aaron beams and ducks his head, busies himself with the shells. Meg laughs, touches Aaron lightly on the arm. “Alright, well, you’re gonna do just fine here. Martin, I guess you can go,” she teases, standing behind Aaron with her hand on his shoulder, dismissing Martin with a wave of her hand. 

“Wow, thanks for the loyalty,” Martin grins back, tilts his own oyster into his mouth. It’s perfectly cut, and Aaron looks proud when Martin holds out his hand to shake it. “I’ll leave you two to it, gotta go see Jamie. Thanks, man,” he says, letting go of Aaron’s hand.

Meg pulls him over, stands on her tiptoes to reach up and hug him. “You’ll come back. Come see us, and bring Tyler, ok? Anytime you want.” She whispers it in his ear and Martin sees she’s a little bit teary-eyed.

“I will. Promise.” He squeezes Meg tight, then turns to Aaron. “Take good care of them.” Aaron nods, blushing a little at the tips of his ears. Martin only wonders about that a tiny bit as he heads off to find Jamie.

Jamie leaves his sister running their stand when Martin shows up, Jenny squinting at them suspiciously as Jamie grabs a small cherry apple pie and some forks. They wander over to the playground and sit on the picnic bench again.

“The Seguins have a farm in California, y’know...he goes there in the winter. I’ll call you if I come visit, yeah?” Jamie says, licking sticky cherry filling off the back of his hand.

Martin nods, scoops up a bite of broken pie crust and loads of fruit on his fork. “You’re gonna keep seeing him? I mean, you want to. Like it’s...a thing?”

Jamie laughs a little sheepishly. “I hope so. I like him. Like a lot,” Jamie says, runs his hand through his hair, and Martin notices he’s gotten it cut, shaved short on the sides and sleek on top. “What about you guys? Are you going to be, like...will he come out, or whatever?”

Martin nods, nervously picks at a piece of the braided, sugar glazed crust. “He wants to. Not right away...but he says he does. I’ll do whatever he wants, you know? Like, there’s no risk for me, so...I’m not gonna rush him. I just want to be with him,” Martin says, all in an awkward mumble of words and pie, and it’s just really, really true.

\---

They eat cereal and almond milk out of huge stainless steel mixing bowls Martin’s mom insisted he take for their house - Tyler got them a _house_ and it’s beautiful and Tyler is beautiful in California and Martin is overwhelmed. Their bed didn’t get there as scheduled, so they fuck on the floor on the fancy rug that somehow did, Martin pushing up, up into Tyler, thrusting from his thighs and legs that are too long and hang off the couch, though they try.

“Shit...do we need a bigger couch already?” Tyler laughs, his mouth against Martin’s neck and arms wrapped around his shoulders while Martin maneuvers them down onto the floor, halfway inside Tyler and trying not to drop him or break anything they’ve just bought.

“Jesus...fuck you’re heavy. And I’m really fucking tall,” Martin says, grinning and breathless against Tyler’s chest. He finally gets his back flush with the floor, presses his arms high over his head and holds him down to kiss him, slow and dirty while the head of his cock nudges just inside him. 

He lifts Tyler’s hips and ass closer, slides in all the way and fucks him until Tyler whines, grips the legs of the coffee table to brace himself and cries out a new high-pitched sound Martin hasn’t heard him make before so maybe the floor is the right place for them. 

Tyler comes all over himself and Martin has to think fast, pull back a little and duck down with his head, use his tongue to stop the wet trail dripping off Tyler’s chest before it reaches the thick, plush rug. He licks and grins and fucks back into Tyler while Tyler babbles, tells Martin he doesn’t have to stop and to keep going and to come inside him. “Please,” he says, almost a whisper. Martin bites the inside of his cheek and kicks over a stack of books when he gets there, releases, deep and shuddering and so hard Tyler must feel it in his fucking _spine_ because Martin sure does.

He tries to roll off and detach from Tyler before it becomes uncomfortable but Tyler holds him tight, one arm around his back and one hand in his sweaty hair. Tyler kisses his face, mouths along his jaw to his ear. “Welcome to California.”

\---

They get drunk off rosé at the pool at Tyler’s old place, and that takes care of the teammates. 

“Dude...get it Toff!” Martinez crows delightedly, knocking into the wall with his beer bottle while he tries to slam the bathroom door shut again. Martin freezes where he is, his head leaned against the bathroom wall, blushing furiously with his hand down Tyler’s shorts.

Tyler just whimpers, pulls Martin closer and bites into his neck. “Don’t stop...I don’t care, fuck, _fuck_ , I love you,” he whines, louder than is probably strictly necessary until he comes with a shout. More than one person claps and hollers, from outside the door. 

“Oh my god,” Martin laughs as he untangles their legs, tries to pull his hand free. Tyler slumps against the wall, tipsy and sun-pink, wrinkling his nose at the mess and giggling at the whole thing. Martin just wants to take him home and fuck him senseless in their new bed.

“Well that ought to do it,” Tyler cracks, licking his lips and waiting for Martin to rinse his hands before he drags him back in for a kiss.

“They gonna give you shit now?” Martin asks, pulling Tyler’s bottom lip between his teeth.

“Mmmmm...s’ok.” Tyler murmurs, wrapping his arms around Martin’s neck, sleepy from wine and having just gotten off. “They’re assholes, but they’re my assholes.”

\---

There’s a little farmer’s market near their house, full of locally pressed olive oil and Meyer lemons and fucking _avocados_. Tyler laughs at him when he wants six, eight, a dozen of each variety, but they’re good fat and he eats them happily when Martin gives them to him in salads or on crunchy seeded toast with cured salmon, which tastes different here but still reminds them of home. 

“Hey,” Martin says in line for tamales and pupusas one day, looking out over the top of Tyler’s head while Tyler sips his strawberry lemonade. The light glints off his golden curls and Martin is so happy he knows this Tyler now, too. “I don’t need to show us off. I mean. If you’re not ready for that. You can take time. Take all the time.” 

Tyler smiles crookedly up into the sun, slips his hand into Martin’s, and holds tight. He doesn’t let go until their food is ready, taking a bite of hot beans and cheese folded into soft griddled masa and looking blissed out. 

“I’m not ready yet. But I will be. We’re in this for a long time, right?” he finally says, licking a bit of crema from the corner of his mouth.

“I fuckin’ hope so since I just moved my whole life here,” Martin laughs, takes a bite of his chicken and cheese tamale. 

Tyler nods, picks at the spicy cabbage slaw on his plate next to his pupusa. “You want to come to my games, right? You know my teammates are cool now. They’ve got wives and all that, they’ll love you too. I want you with me, really with me. I think that sounds...amazing. If you’re ready.”

Martin smiles, puts his hand over Tyler’s, twists their fingers together over his plastic fork. He’s here and they’re really doing this, and he doesn’t understand the California seasons yet but he understands this. “I’ll be ready when you are.”


End file.
